Sex on a Plane Almost
by a.lakewood
Summary: Flight 424 did nothing to soothe Dean's fears of flying, but Sam's somewhat determined to make his brother face his fear. WINCEST.


**Title**: Sex on a Plane (Almost)  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Spoilers for _Phantom Traveler_. Wincest.  
**Rating**: R  
**Word** **Count**: 1500+  
**Summary**: Brotherf***ing sex on the motherf***ing plane (almost). Flight 424 did nothing to soothe Dean's fears of flying, but Sam's somewhat determined to make his brother face his fear.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.  
**A/N**: Title and part of the summary are bad mockery of _Snakes on a Plane_. Never saw the movie, but the twist on the title randomly came to me and I couldn't resist using it.

**oxoxo**

It had been easy – almost _too_ easy – to fall back into old habits with Sam. Nearly as though only days, or maybe weeks, had passed since the last time they'd seen each other, not years. They way they worked together was second-nature, as thoughtless as breathing, and it felt _right_. And the banter – the back and forth Dean hadn't even realized he'd missed until Sam off-handedly insulted him and Dean hurled a retort back without missing a beat. And if Sam's comebacks were always darkened by meanness and slightly barbed, Dean ignored it. After all, Sam protected himself the same way Dean always had – with walls built of anger and bitterness and sharp-edged sarcasm, and each brick was just as hollow as they were on the inside. At least the empty ache eased a little within Sam's presence.

Habits, patterns, routines – all seemingly unchanged, but Dean knew better. Sam was pissed and terrified and sometimes vengeful, all with good reason, but Dean could sense that Sam was by his side mostly for the fact that he had nowhere else to go.

Sam had seen a rare side of him though – the side that openly expressed fear regardless of Sam's quick mockery and even quicker disbelief. He hated flying – even more than health food and hybrid cars and that silly emo _crap_ Sam called music, all combined. Hated it so much because it was one of the few (the _very_ few) things Dean was actually afraid of.

Dean let himself into their room at the Royal Motel not far from the Lehigh Valley airport and tossed his motel key onto the table just inside the door and dropping his duffel at the foot of the first bed. He pulled out his homemade EMF meter and pried the dead double-A's out of the back and threw them into the bagless plastic garbage can beside the table then moved to sit at the head of his bed where he could use the light from the lamp on the nightstand between the beds to look at the EMF meter. He needed to remodify his design because standard alkaline batteries just weren't cutting it. He'd just removed the back casing to study the connections as Sam came into the room with a paper bag from the gas station down the road. With little more than a smirk, Sam pulled his girly diet soda and handed the bag and the keys to the Impala over to Dean, retreating to his corner of the room where his laptop was situated on the small table.

Dean had more than half of a Twinkie shoved in his mouth when Sam said, "So, you still afraid of flying?"

One of Dean's eyebrows arched comically, which, combined with his Twinkie-full chipmunk cheeks made him look hilarious. "Wha?"

Sam chuckled. "Seriously. You can't overcome a fear if you don't face it head-on. Remember Amanda?"

The eyebrow stayed arched. "She's a _stewardess_," he mumbled. "She wasn't afraid to fly until the crash."

"Well, the plane didn't crash, did it? We saved the flight, all those people. You should get back up in the air again."

Dean snorted, nearly choking on the last remnants of golden cake and cream filling. "Pass."

"Come on. Just a short flight. We can...go to Atlantic City."

Dean actually considered that for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. It's not that far of a drive."

"Dean."

"No. End of discussion." And Dean shoved his remaining Twinkie in his mouth, effectively halting Sam's argument.

Which was why Dean was completely mystified as to how he ended up in the Pittsburgh International Airport the following afternoon. "Sam," he began with a slight whine where they stood before the airline counters. "Why? Why can't you just let this go?"

"Because," Sam sighed. "I can't remember one time when we were growing up that you were ever afraid of anything."

"It's called _pretending_, Sam. I was scared of a lot of shit. Especially with Dad gone half the time and having to take care of you and knowing what kind of _things_ were out there." Dean shook his head.

"And you've face all those things, haven't you?"

"_Sam,_" Dean said again.

"Dean. Come on. You can find a flight attendant to join the mile-high club with you in the bathroom or something." They shared a brief look before Sam averted his gaze.

"We could just drive to Denver if I wanted to do that," Dean said softly, leaning imperceptibly closer to Sam. There'd been a lot in that fleeting glance. And all the feelings Dean had buried deep down within himself when Sam had left for Stanford slowly rose to the surface. So much had changed since then. _They_ had changed so much since then.

"I just thought..." Sam took a deep breath and met Dean's eye again. "Look, if you don't want to, we can just forget it." He started for the exit.

Dean let out a silent groan. "This better be the shortest flight _ever_."

Sam stopped and turned. "You sure?"

"It it'll get you off my back."

Dean was humming Metallica again. 'Turn the Page,' it sounded like, but Sam couldn't be completely sure. Dean's knuckles were white where he gripped the armrests of the seat. "Dude, chill out."

"Why did I agree to this?" Dean asked himself.

"Because I asked you to," Sam answered, his fingers ghosting over the back of Dean's hand. His eyes flicked up to the 'fasten seat belt' sign as it darkened. "Follow me in a few," he whispered as he undid his seat belt and climbed over his brother.

Dean's humming abruptly stopped. "Wh-what?"

Sam just inclined his head towards the rear of the plane.

Dean's fear of flying was quickly replaced by sudden anxiety for whatever Sam had planned. He released his grip on the armrests and flexed his fingers, wiping sweaty palms on his thighs as the seconds slowly passed. Finally, on weak knees, Dean headed back towards the bathroom, begging to whatever god was listening for no turbulence as he made his way down the aisle. He tapped 'Shave and a Haircut' on the door. Sam opened it and hauled Dean into the confined space with him.

How people managed to do much more than go to the bathroom in the ridiculously small area. Case and point, he and Sam stood chest to chest, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, barely breathing room between them. Even if there had been room to breathe, with the way Sam was looking at him, pupils all blown wide, Dean doubted he'd have been able to catch his breath. Sam would've stolen it from him anyway when one of his hands slid between their bodies and pressed the heel of his palm against Dean's hardening erection.

"Sam," Dean gasped, one hand gripping the sink, the other fisting in the hem of Sam's shirt.

Sam's mouth descended on Dean's as he worked to pull down the zipper of Dean's jeans and pop the button one-handed, succeeding and slipping his hand inside, thumb pressing against the underside of the head of Dean's dick through his boxer-briefs where it curved towards Dean's left hip, his fingers stretching to fondle the sensitive spot behind Dean's balls.

Dean panted hard against Sam's mouth, Sam catching Dean's bottom lip between his teeth and tugging gently.

"What do you think about flying now?" Sam questioned, his hand finally moving beneath the elastic band of Dean's underwear to firmly grip Dean's cock.

Dean didn't even feel the turbulence as Sam started stroking him, sure and gentle. "It's great," Dean breathed, the hand that had been clenching Sam's shirt finding its way to the back of Sam's head to force him down into another heated kiss.

It didn't take long before Dean was coming, then Sam was cleaning him off and tucking him back into his pants. He was reaching for the fly of Sam's jeans to reciprocate, but Sam caught his hand. "You don't have to; this was about you. Besides, we don't have time. Gotta get back out there."

Dean kissed Sam one last time before backing out of the bathroom, thankful that nobody on the uncrowded flight seemed to notice the two guys in the bathroom. Knees still a bit unstable, Dean made his way back to their row and took Sam's seat by the window. Sam slid into the seat beside him a couple of minutes later. "So...what now?"

"I reserved us a hotel room, then we'll fly back in the morning. Then we'll find another job, try to find Dad, I guess."

"What about...?"

Sam smirked. "We've got all night."

"I didn't mean-"

For the first time since Jess had died, Sam's grin was genuine, his laughter deeper than Dean could remember it ever being. "I know."

"So..." Dean said, settling into his seat and glancing out the window. "I guess flying's not all that bad."

"No," Sam chuckled, "I guess it's not."


End file.
